The Gift of Battle

CHAPTER THREE

Kendrick, Brandt, Atme, Koldo, and Ludvig trekked through the Great Waste, into the rising suns of the desert dawn, marching on foot, as they had been all night, determined to rescue young Kaden. They marched somberly, falling into a silent rhythm, each with hands on their weapons, all peering down and following the trail of the Sand Walkers. The hundreds of footprints led them deeper and deeper into this landscape of desolation.

Kendrick began to wonder if it would ever end. He marveled that he had found himself back in this position, back in this Waste he had sworn he would never step foot in again—especially on foot, with no horses, no provisions, and no way of getting back. They had put their faith in the other knights of the Ridge that they would return for them with the horses—but if not, they had bought themselves a one-way ticket into a quest of no return.

But that was what valor meant, Kendrick knew. Kaden, a fine young warrior with a big heart, had nobly stood watch, had ventured bravely into the desert to prove himself while standing guard, and he had been kidnapped by these savage beasts. Koldo and Ludvig could not turn their back on their younger brother, however grim the chance—and Kendrick, Brandt, and Atme could not turn their backs on all of them; their sense of duty and honor compelled them otherwise. These fine knights of the Ridge had taken them in with hospitality and grace when they had needed them most—and now it was time to repay the favor—whatever the cost. Death meant little to him—but honor meant everything.

“Tell me about Kaden,” Kendrick said, turning to Koldo, wanting to break the monotony of silence.

Koldo looked up, startled from the deep silence, and sighed.

“He is one of the finest young warriors you will ever meet,” he said. “His heart is always bigger than his age. He wanted to be a man before he was even a boy, wanted to wield a sword before he could even hold one.”

He shook his head.

“It surprises me not that he venture too deep, would be the first one on a patrol to be taken. He backed down from nothing—especially if it meant watching over others.”

Ludvig chimed in.

“If any of us had been taken,” he said, “our little brother would be the first to volunteer. He is the youngest of us, and he represents what is best in us.”

Kendrick had assumed as much from what he’d seen when talking to Kaden. He had recognized the warrior spirit within him, even at his young age. Kendrick knew, as he always had, that age had nothing to do with being a warrior: the warrior spirit resided in someone, or it did not. The spirit could not lie.

They continued marching for a long time, falling back into their steady silence as the suns rose higher, until finally Brandt cleared his throat.

“And what of these Sand Walkers?” Brandt asked Koldo.

Koldo turned to him as they marched.

“A vicious group of nomads,” he replied. “More beast than man. They are known to patrol the periphery of the Sand Wall.”

“Scavengers,” Ludvig chimed in. “They have been known to drag their victims deep into the desert.”

“To where?” Atme asked.

Koldo and Ludvig exchanged an ominous look.

“To wherever it is they are gathering—where they perform a ritual and tear them to pieces.”

Kendrick flinched as he thought of Kaden, and the fate that awaited him.

“Then there is little time to waste,” Kendrick said. “Let us run, shall we?”

They all looked at each other, knowing the vastness of this place and what a long run they’d have before them—especially in the rising heat and with their armor. They all knew how risky it would be not to pace themselves in this unforgiving landscape.

Yet they did not hesitate; they broke into a jog together. They ran into nothingness, sweat soon pouring down their faces, knowing if they did not find Kaden soon, this desert would kill them all.

Kendrick gasped as he ran, the second sun now high overhead, its light blinding, its heat stifling, and yet he and the others continued to jog, all gasping, their armor clanking as they ran. Sweat poured down Kendrick’s face and stung his eyes so badly, he could barely see. As his lungs nearly burst, he had never known how badly he could crave oxygen. Kendrick had never experienced anything like the heat of these suns, so intense, feeling like it would burn the skin right off his body.

They would not make it much further in this heat, at this pace, Kendrick knew; soon enough, they would all die out here, collapse, become nothing but food for insects. Indeed, as they ran, Kendrick heard a distant screech, and he looked up to see the vultures circling, as they had been for hours, getting lower. They were always the smart ones: they knew when a fresh death was imminent.

As Kendrick peered out at the footprints of the Sand Walkers, still trailing off into the horizon, he could not comprehend how they had covered so much ground so quickly. He only prayed that Kaden was still alive, that all of this was not for nothing. Yet he could not, despite himself, help but wonder if they would ever reach him at all. It was like following footprints out into a receding ocean.

Kendrick glanced around him and saw the others slumped over, too, all stumbling more than running, all barely on their feet—yet all determined, like he, not to stop. Kendrick knew—they all knew—that as soon as they stopped moving, they would all be dead.

Kendrick wanted to break the monotony of the silence, yet he was too tired to talk to the others now, and he forced his legs onward, feeling as if they weighed a million pounds. He dared not even use the energy to look up into the horizon, knowing he would see nothing, knowing that he was doomed to die here after all. Instead, he looked down to ground, watching the trail, preserving whatever precious energy he had left.

Kendrick heard a noise, and at first he was sure it was his imagination; yet it came again, a distant sound, like the humming of bees, and this time he forced himself to look up, knowing it was stupid, that nothing could be there, and afraid to be hopeful.

Yet this time, the sight before him made his heart pound with excitement. There, before them, perhaps a hundred yards away, was a gathering of Sand Walkers.

Kendrick jabbed the others, and they each looked up, too, snapped out of their reverie, and they each saw it with a shock. Battle had arrived.

Kendrick reached down and grabbed his weapon, as the others did, too, and felt the familiar rush of adrenaline.

The Sand Walkers, dozens of them, turned and spotted them, and they, too, prepared, facing them. They shrieked and burst into a run.

Kendrick raised his sword high and let out a great battle cry, ready, at last, to kill his foes—or die trying.